


Drink With Me

by Sir_Bedevere



Series: Walk Beside Me (Thorin's Songs) [2]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 11:57:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Bedevere/pseuds/Sir_Bedevere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'There was no birdsong on this morning, he was sure, because the armies that were camped outside were making enough noise to scare off any little trembling creature that might be trying its best to greet the sun.'</p><p>Also known as the one with the king, the doctor and the joker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drink With Me

Dawn had been slipping into the cave for some time, but if any of the others were awake to see it then they were at least pretending not to be. Glóin and Dori were snoring, a low rumble that Óin could only hear if he used his trumpet and he hardly bothered with that. He’d been on watch for several hours, the dawn shift that he loved so much. He liked watching the world come alive around him, and even here in the darkness of the cave the soft tendrils of light were enough for him to know that the birds would just be beginning their day and the song would be filling the air. If he’d been outside, his trumpet would have been glued to his ear.

As it was, the stupid thing lay uselessly besides him. There was no birdsong on this morning, he was sure, because the armies that were camped outside were making enough noise to scare off any little trembling creature that might be trying its best to greet the sun. He knew this for a fact, because Thorin had been pacing slowly backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, at the far end of the cave and everything so often he would pause and cock his head. He could hear something from out there that worried him, and Óin had been in enough battles to know that he didn’t need to hear the thunder of goblin war drums again. For the first time in a long time he was grateful that he couldn’t hear a sound. He didn’t need to hear such things again but neither did his battle-hardened companions…or those who hadn’t been in battle actually…and Thorin especially did not need to hear it. None of this would be helping him. If he hadn’t looked so distracted, Óin might have tried to speak to him. As it was, all he could do was watch.

A movement from the far corner of the cave caught Óin’s eye and Bofur rolled out of his bedroll, stretching his arms in front of him and stepping carefully over the pile of his brother and cousin. He crept over to Óin and picked up his trumpet and handed it to him, before settling down next to him. 

“What’s the time?” he murmured, his eyes immediately fixing on Thorin.

“I don’t know exactly, lad,” Óin replied, “But dawn is here.”

“Has he stopped at all?” Bofur said, nodding towards Thorin, “He has been doing that since my watch.”

“He has not,” Óin shook his head, “At least not while I have been watching, and Nori said he hadn’t stopped for his watch or for Dwalin’s before that.”

“All night then,” Bofur said sadly, biting his lip, “He’s going to be exhausted.”

“I know, lad, I know,” Óin sighed, “I would have given him something to help him sleep if I thought for a moment he would have taken it.”

“Aye,” Bofur nodded, “He-”

He was interrupted by the noise from outside that Thorin had probably been dreading all night; the sound of short swords being beaten on shields. 

It was almost time.

Thorin flinched, bodily flinched, when the noise started and his strong step faltered. Bofur looked away, unable to watch, but Óin had had enough. He got to his feet and went over to Thorin, who was staring at the ground and could hardly look at him. 

“Come on,” Óin said, putting a hand on his arm, “Come on.”

Thorin followed him over as meekly as a child would and Bofur shifted over to make room for him between them. Thorin didn’t say anything as he threw himself down, but he didn’t need to. The guilt was stark on his face, making him look younger than the rage ever had. 

“This was not my intention,” he said suddenly, “To be caught up in such a futile fight.”

“It rarely is anyone’s intention,” Óin said gently, “No matter what the poets say.”

“We knew,” Bofur said, “We always knew what we were getting ourselves into.”

Thorin looked sceptical, “It was a foolish notion. The world changes and we are left behind. Our age is long over. They say the age of men is dawning.”

“Maybe it is,” Bofur said, grinning darkly, “But we don’t have to leave quietly. No one ever said that.”

“You will be king,” Óin said, “And Fili will be king after you and the age of men will not mean a damn thing while the line of Durin lives and breathes and sits the throne of Erebor.”

As he spoke, Óin pulled his pack over and took out a small bottle of Elvish wine he had been saving since Rivendell. Bofur caught on and scrambled to his feet, hurrying to collect three cups from the untidy heap in the corner. Óin glanced around him to check that the others were still sleeping, and then emptied the bottle into the cups. He handed them to his companions and raised his own towards theirs.

“One more drink before the war,” he said, “Whatever happens today, it has been a pleasure, my king.”

“Hear hear,” Bofur nodded, draining his cup in two large gulps, “You know, this Elvish stuff, it’s not bad.”

Óin cuffed him gently around the ear – only Bofur could find something good to say about those pointy-eared bastards - but Thorin smiled softly at the comment and took a small sip of his own wine. 

“Perhaps you are right there,” he conceded, “They know wine.”

“Much prefer a good ale myself,” Óin said, “But Elvish water is better than nothing.”

Thorin’s shoulders relaxed as the conversation steered away from war, a fact that did not go unnoticed by either of his companions and they kept up a constant stream of chatter, and if Bofur moved a little closer so that he was almost leaning on him and Óin patted his arm a little more often that he needed to in order to make himself heard then none of them said anything about it.

Because if there was one thing that Thorin needed right now, more than anything, it was to know that he was not alone.

And it wasn’t doing too badly in helping to calm their nerves either.

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus points for spotting something I borrowed from another LOTR related source


End file.
